Epic Fail At Bed Bath and Beyond

Today I had big plans to buy an iron. After dealing with wrinkly clothes for, oh, I don't know...(let's see, I moved out of my parents' house at 17, I'm now 24...carry the two...) for SEVEN YEARS, I finally took one more step towards legitimate adulthood and set out to buy an iron.

*Sigh* I went into Bed Bath and Beyond to buy one, single iron. $180 and two shopping bags full later, I left the store feeling like I had just had an out of body experience. How had this just happened? How had I spent nearly two hundred dollars at Bed Bath and Beyond when all I really wanted was an iron?

I did a quick inventory of all the things I bought, and I was relieved to find out that I hadn't bought anything that I didn't necessarily need. Soap, razors, dish towels, and...POT-HOLDERS. That was it! Those damn pot-holders, while not solely responsible for my epic fail, had played a large roll in my home store demise.

I have also gone for a good two months without a pot-holder in my home. I have been using towels, several wads of paper towels, and even my own clothing upon occasion to remove things from the oven. After a near disaster involving some baked salmon I also made a mental note to buy some pot-holders, a memory that was jogged while I was in my semi-comatose state at Bed Bath and Beyond.

When I made the decision to buy the pot-holders in addition to the iron I didn't have very stringent criteria. Color? Don't care. Shape? Don't care. Cost? CARE!
It was like finding a damn needle in a haystack trying to find an affordable pot-holder in that money pit. They had so many pot-holders, all of which claimed to do something else in addition to their intended function. Pot-holder/dish towel? Not interested. Decorative pot-holder? I'll pass. Pot-holder that also doubles as a cocktail dress? No thank you (I didn't actually find one like that, but I felt like I might have if I had continued to search). Really, all I wanted was a piece of fabric that would allow me to remove a hot dish from the oven and emerge with all five fingers still attached to my hand. Anything additional was not necessary.

I eventually found those elusive pot-holders (for ten bucks a pop, jerks) and then a salesman tried to sell me a $70 iron. Ha! Boy was he screwed from the beginning. I asked him if the iron could travel through time, and when he told me no I said, "Well, then I am NOT interested!"

My Uncle's Wake

My Uncle Rudy passed away last week, and while it wasn't a complete surprise (he had been pretty sick) it is still so sad for everyone in our family. However, my family is not one for funerals; instead, we have wakes. That means instead of formally going to a church after someone passes away, we go to someone's house, barbecue, and drink boxed wine.
While I was attending my uncle's wake yesterday these are some of the statements that I overheard:

My father: "Oh, yeah, Johnny's old wife. Jean, Jean, The Adultery Machine."
My uncle: "She was kind of loose, wasn't she?"


My cousin: "Okay, who else wants to see the new baby's webbed toes while his sock is still off?"


(During a portion of the wake where some of my cousins had removed their shirts to compare their various tattoos)
Me: "Umm, Jesse, is that a swastika tattooed on your middle finger?"
Cousin Jesse: "Yeah."
Me: "That is disgusting. You need to get that covered up with something else."
Cousin Jesse: "I will! I just need to find someone who will laser it off for cheap!"

There was also a portion of the afternoon where one of my uncles revealed to some of my cousins and I a sampling of the XXX porn he has stored on his cell phone. He thought it was funny, but I'm pretty sure we are all scarred for life.

RIP Uncle Rudy! At least you went out in style!

Jazz Taxi

Riding in a taxi cab in San Francisco is always a gamble, and this fact has never been more clear than before this evening, when I was driven home by a cabby who brought multi-tasking to a whole new level.
My roommate Alyssa and I climbed into a cab, and she immediately began hyperventilating and gasping out the words, "FLUTE! FLUTE!" over and over again. At first I didn't think much of it, as she had been drinking for a good five hours. I figured flute hallucinations must be pretty par for the course after an all day binge, but I then heard a medley of wind-instrument notes erupt from the front seat. Being seated behind the driver, I had to crane my neck to see what was creating the noise from the front of the car. I peeked over the driver's shoulder and: BEHOLD! The cabby was steering the car through the crowded streets of San Francisco with his KNEES. Normally, I would consider this to be a silly maneuver, as drivers typically have at least one free hand to steer their vehicles. However, it quickly became evident that this cabby had no choice but to use his lower half to steer his car, as both of his arms were occupied with a CLARINET (Apparently, after a few drinks clarinets are interchangeable with flutes). That is correct: The cabby was playing a clarinet while flying down Van Ness and steering with his knees.
For reasons that I am still trying to reconcile, my immediate reaction was not of fear, or horror, or even anger, but rather of intrigue. I began asking the driver about his clarinet, and even wondered if he would take requests. He attempted to play a few little "ditties" on his horn, none of which I really recognized.
It was then that our driver revealed that not only was he a master multi-tasker, but that he also let his dog drive his cab upon occasion. (I am still not clear if the dog also plays an instrument while behind the wheel). Additionally, this man passed out a business card (which features the aforementioned dog at the wheel of a cab) with his phone number and WEBSITE. Yes. Homeboy has his own website. I encourage everyone to check it out for themselves at www.taxijazz.com. Here are just a few of the highlights I have come across:
1. Under the title "Taxidriver Therapist," "Resolving the Trouble with Society............"
2. The story of how the Jazz Taxi came to be: "Out of nowhere I ended up owning a fleet of taxi cabs--my lifelong dream. Out of nothing--Because while I had a gunshot wound in one hand; the other hand had the tendons severed when I crushed a Coke bottle on the assailants face. With both of my hands wrapped up--and I had also been hit in the head with a bat--I was understandably not in good shape to look for a job."
Truly, these two examples are just the TIP of the iceberg, and I encourage everyone to go check this out for themselves; it is too good to be made up.